


that girl is a monster

by eversincewefellapart



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Clothing Kink, Cunnilingus, F/M, Semi-Public Sex, girl!mike
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2213007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversincewefellapart/pseuds/eversincewefellapart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>“Y’know,” Mike gasps into his ear as he props her on the edge of his desk, shoving aside his folders and papers while simultaneously sucking a mark onto the side of her neck, “I always thought we’d be having sex quicker than this.”</em> (In which Harvey Specter's life is slowly being destroyed by a pair of high heels.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	that girl is a monster

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing a different Mike/Harvey story but I got stuck so...apparently I thought some quick and shameless girl!Mike porn would be the way to get un-stuck. And it worked? Anyway, I hope this is somewhat enjoyable! (I'd also like to quickly say that there's no mention of a condom, but I didn't really write it with the idea of barebacking in mind, so I guess we could all pretend that Harvey had a condom in his wallet and put it on before they fucked?)

“Mikey,” Donna announces, strutting into Harvey’s office with a tottering Mike on her arm, “has finally taken the first step into lawyerhood.”

It doesn't take long to understand what that means; his eyes fall of their own accord to Mike’s feet, raising one eyebrow at the heels she’s got on. They’re nothing compared to the heels worn by the other women at the firm, but they’re definitely different from the flats--and sometimes, when Harvey’s too tired to argue about it--the sneakers Mike wears.

“It’s different,” he says at last, and Mike huffs, letting go of Donna and immediately stumbling forward. Donna watches her flail with a wince, and Mike’s glaring at Harvey when she finally pulls herself together and stands back up, swaying slightly until she slaps her palm on the wall to keep herself steady.

“Different how?” she asks, leaning against the glass wall of Harvey’s office, crossing her arms over her chest. “You wanted me to look proper, didn't you?”

“I did.” Harvey leans back in his chair, thumbing at his chin as his eyes flicker over her frame. He can tell she bristles, even though it’s barely a movement she tries to keep concealed. “Not good or bad different--just, different.”

Mike raises an eyebrow as well, and turns to look at Donna with an eye roll. “Men. Don't appreciate anything.”

“Tell me about it,” Donna, the traitor, says, with a leveled look at Harvey. She then reaches out to clasp her and Mike’s hands together, helping Mike out of the office. “Don't forget about meeting the client at three, Harvey,” she calls back as they leave.

Harvey’s eyes snap up from where they were watching Mike’s legs, long and lean, stem from under her skirt. Fuck.

-

The next day, Harvey walks into his office and is frighteningly off-guard to notice Mike, who is perched on the side of his desk and thumbing through a manila folder.

“I just had a question,” she says, quickly, before Harvey can question her. He gives her his signature eyebrow raise and smirk over the rim of his mug and nods for her to continue. “See, I was reviewing this case, and I came across--”

She keeps speaking but slowly slowly, his attention leaves from her words and drifts towards where her blouse, top two buttons undone, is showing off the curve of her breasts, and then lower.

She’s wearing the same pair of heels from yesterday, and today it’s been paired with a pencil skirt Harvey had personally chosen for her. They match impeccably, if he does say so himself, and they make her long, smooth legs look--pretty incredible. He licks his lips unconsciously.

“Harvey? Jesus Christ.”

Harvey’s attention snaps up, back to Mike’s face, and without his permission, he thinks it’s just as pretty as the rest of her. The thought makes him want to brain himself on the sharp edge of his desk. “Yes?”

“Were you paying any attention?” she asks, irritated, waving the manila around, and Harvey swallows thickly as he catches the sight of her slender wrist. What is going on with him today?

“Sorry,” he says after a moment, “I haven't yet had my morning cup. Just leave that on my desk and I’ll look over it later.”

Mike’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You serious?”

“Yeah,” he says, and takes a large swig of his coffee. Maybe his brain’s acting all wonky like this because it hasn't had its daily quota of caffeine yet.

Mike seems uncertain but she still drops the manila on his desk, giving Harvey a strange look as she passes him. “Alright then.” Her hand comes to rest on his shoulder as she gives him a pat, and he almost jumps out of his fucking skin. “Don't take too long though, yeah?”

She’s already left by the time he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, murmuring a rough, “yeah.”

-

The afternoon goes mostly as usual--the two of them go out for lunch and get a hotdog from the stand on the sidewalk like usual, but it’s a little different today; Mike keeps bumping into Harvey and grappling at him each time she loses her balance. Her cheeks are flushed as she bites into her sandwich, and she glares down at her shoes as she chews.

“Y’know,” she says, and swallows, “I can do with the ridiculous blouses and the too-tight skirts, but I think the heels are pushing it a little.”

Harvey’s focusing on the way her ankle bone protrudes delicately from the heel as she says it, so he doesn't give himself too much shit when he immediately replies “they should stay.”

Mike glances up at him, mouth agape. “Huh?”

Harvey curses under his breath and meets her eyes, channelling his coolest smile. “They should stay. C’mon, kid, I’ve told you time and time again we’ve got to look professional. Sneakers and skirts aren't professional.”

“Yeah, well, me falling into everything isn't professional either,” Mike points out, stuffing the rest of her hotdog into her mouth and tossing the napkin into the garbage can. She swallows and takes a sip of her pop. “I think my point is more valid.”

“I think you just need a little more practice,” Harvey replies, and polishes off the rest of his hotdog. She rolls her eyes and turns around, making her way back to the building, and he thumbs the corner of his mouth before following behind her, watching her skirt shift around her hips with each uncertain step she takes.

-

The problem becomes apparent the next day, when he steps into the elevator, and, upon looking up as the gleaming doors shut, makes eye contact with Mike.

“Morning,” she says, and gives him an uncertain smile, and it seems--different. He nods his reply and looks back down at his phone, before his eyes snap down.

Today, she’s got on a new pair of black pumps, paired with a white blouse and a gray pencil skirt. Her hair is styled, too, instead of the obvious “I just rolled out of bed and patted down my hair before coming to work” ‘do she always sports, and she’s fidgeting.

Harvey realizes that a pair of high heels may very well be ruining his life.

The elevator comes to a gentle stop and the doors open up swiftly, and before she steps out she gives him a sidelong smirk--a sidelong knowing smirk--before she leaves him standing there, wondering what just happened.

The doors to the elevator close then, and he realizes a moment too late that he was supposed to get off on that level as well.

-

“Y’know,” Mike gasps into his ear as he props her on the edge of his desk, shoving aside his folders and papers while simultaneously sucking a mark onto the side of her neck, “I always thought we’d be having sex quicker than this.”

He leans back, just a bit, to meet her eyes. “Pardon?”

The office building is dark, and the only light is the lamp on his desk and the moonlight streaming through the windows in his office casting her in a pretty glow--cliche as hell, but true. “Studies have said that two--”

He rolls his eyes before ducking down and catching her mouth in his, kissing her slick and filthy, licking into her mouth when she parts her lips in a gasp and closes her eyes. She braces one hand on the desktop and leans back, spreading her legs as far as they can go in the restraints of a pencil skirt, and Harvey’s hands slide up her thighs and under the hem of the material, pinching the soft skin.

“Fuck,” she mutters when they pull apart; her lips are always this intoxicating red colour but now they seem even brighter, even in the dark, and she blinks up at him before smirking. “It’s rude to not let someone finish what they were saying. I thought Harvey Specter of all people would know that.” She accompanies the statement with a poke to his side, and he snorts before dropping down onto his knees.

“How about I go down on you,” he begins, trailing his fingers over the zip of her skirt, watching her shiver, “and you forgive me for interrupting you?”

“Oh,” she says, and shrugs, trying to look nonchalant, even as she helps him tug the zipper down and ruck the skirt up around her waist, “yeah, I suppose that could be arranged.”

He smiles into the soft inside of her thigh instead of answering verbally, and she reaches one hand down, sliding her fingers through his hair. He doesn't chastise her for it like she probably thinks he would; instead, he tugs her knickers down and flattens his tongue, swiping it along her wetness. Her thighs immediately clamp around his face, and as he licks up into her cunt she’s suddenly all that he can focus on; all he can smell, taste, feel. It’s--strangely nice.

He eats her out sloppy and quick, eyes shut and eyebrows furrowed as his jaw works, and she gets so wet it drips down his chin as he pushes his face into the warmth in between her legs. The little gasps she makes spur him on to do it better, one hand wrapped around her ankle, the other digging into her thigh.

His cock is pressing up, swollen fat, against his flies when her thighs tighten around his face and her cunt pulses against his mouth, getting his face all shiny-slick. She makes a pretty, broken whimpering sound, her fingers going slack in his hair and he keeps licking at her greedily even as her hips twitch away from his mouth.

“Harvey--” she gasps as he swipes over her sensitive clit with the tip of his tongue, but she still slowly grinds her hips down against his mouth anyway, even though she’s still twitching from her first orgasm. “Harvey--fuck--”

The second time she comes, she’s frotting against his face shamelessly, so fucking wet when he pulls back and sucks in a breath of air. Her head’s tossed back, legs spread shamelessly, her shirt slipping down one shoulder. It’s--Harvey’s been blessed with seeing a lot of beautiful things in his life, but this sight definitely takes the cake, without a doubt.

“Fuck,” she pants again, and tugs on his hair to pull him up, kissing him clumsily, this time pushing her tongue into his mouth, past his teeth with a little moan. Her hands rest on his waist, tugging at the jacket of his suit. “Off, off, c’mon--”

It’s strange, how he finds himself following her demands, tugging off his jacket, followed by his waistcoat and shirt--he usually likes to tease, likes to take a while before he’s fully stripped down, but she has him shirtless and undoing the flies of his slacks quicker than he’s done before.

He plants his hands down on the desk beside her hips as he fucks her, her hands digging into the muscles of his back each time his hips twist up and his cock slides back inside of her, and their mouths slide together in what couldn't be considered a kiss; they’re panting into each other’s mouths, spit dribbling down their chins, and she rocks her hips down to the best of her abilities to meet every one of his thrusts.

She comes with a quiet, weak moan the last time, his thumb wedged between their sweaty, filthy bodies, rubbing against her clit firmly, and he buries his face into the crook of her neck as he comes moments later.

He’s drunk off of Mike and the smell of sex, two of his most favourite things, when his bleary eyes fall on the pair of heels haphazardly tossed onto the floor beside the desk from when Mike kicked them off.

He silently thanks them.

-

A week later, Mike steps into his office, dropping a kiss to his forehead and a pile of folders onto his desk with a cheerful smile. She’s actually a lot more intimidating than he ever gave her credit for.

“Good morning to you too,” he says dryly, flipping open one of the folders. She smirks and leans against his desk, and that’s when he notices the flat sandals she’s wearing today. “New shoes?”

“Ah,” she says, glancing down at them and giving her toes a wiggle, “yeah. I’ve decided that heels are most definitely not for me.”

They have a little chat about the new case before she leaves him with another kiss, this one quicker, on his lips, and as he watches her walk out, he thinks that maybe he shouldn't have thanked those pair of heels.

He really did just like her all along.


End file.
